


Views and Vodka

by favorablefaliure



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Alternate Meeting, Anatole is hot and he knows it, Anatole is picking up women, Fedya is a mess, M/M, Mild Language, bar setting, gay babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 09:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15069911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favorablefaliure/pseuds/favorablefaliure
Summary: Fedya reminisces about how he met his beloved Kuragin.





	Views and Vodka

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my second work ever! its super cool to see the support on my first work, so i decided to post another! thank you and hope you enjoy! feel free to leave criticism in the comments :)

Anatole Kuragin.

Anatole fucking Kuragin.

The name that gave Fedya Dolokhov— the drunken assassin, the mindless soldier— a glimmer of hope in his life. When Dolokhov first saw the skinny, blond boy in the club, effortlessly charming a barely dress woman five years old than him, Fedya was hooked. Hooked on the way his hair bounced with every turn of his head, hooked with every blink and stare in his direction. The soldier swore he was looking behind him, but when the boy lifted his thin finger and told him to come to his table as the other woman left, he obeyed.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing such a handsome man this evening?” the blond said confidently, his words intoxicating Dolokhov. His voice was sweet and tenor, but still just rough and deep enough to charm his victims with so much as a hello.

“Just here for the views and vodka,” Dolokhov replied slyly, looking the younger man up and down, observing him closely. He was wearing black trousers, his sword dangling, and a white shirt, flourished with gold buttons. The pants hugged his thighs deviously and he couldn't help but stare.

“Enjoying the view here?” the boy said while standing up and stretching out his hand to shake. He looke at the soldier, biting his lip ever so slightly. Enough to make Dolokhov smirk. “Prince Anatole Kuragin. It’s definitely a pleasure.”

Fedya look Anatole’s hand, shaking it lightly. He savored the touch, noticing how softer the boys skin felt compared to how it looked, if that was even possible.

“Fedya Dolokhov. The pleasure is mine. What is a respectable man like yourself doing in such a place as this?”

“The views and the vodka, mon cher. You are not the only one who can notice beauty when he sees it. Think I did not catch your eyes wondering over there?”

Dolokhov shifted on his feet, his eyes darting over to the drink station. Anywhere but on the beautiful prince in front of him. So he speaks french? Could he get any better?

“So, you’re shy, huh? Shy and pretty, a rarity here,” Anatole observed. He took Dolokhov’s hand in his own quickly, leading him to an abandoned hallway far from the music and chatter of the club. The hallway stunk of cheap wine and regrets, but Dolokhov didn’t seem to mind considering his hand never left the prince’s.

“Dear Fedya, tell me about yourself now that we have no distractions,” Anatole said sweetly, brushing his free hand across Dolokhov’s shiney and pushed back black hair.

Dolokhov couldn’t seem to think of anything to say to the man in front of him, afraid of scaring him away. It isn’t exactly charming to hear your new friend was once a deadly assassin and fearless soldier in a war that left him beaten and broken.

“I… I’m a soldier. Back in the war. Isn’t charming, I know,” Fedya repeated his thoughts to Anatole, bracing himself for his inevitable reaction: fear. He removed his own hand forcibly and shoved both into his trouser pockets.

Instead of the reaction Fedya expected, we was given a completely different one. Anatole smiled. He fucking smiled. A smile that was so blinding and beautiful Fedya had to brace himself on the wall behind him. 

“Fedya, you underestimate yourself, mon cher. I like a man with rough edges,” the prince said, lust being a prominent feature in his dark, yet piercing, blue eyes. Lust? Dolokhov’s eyes wrinkled and his dark eyebrows furrowed. Dolokhov had never seen lust being something aimed at him. Especially not by a man. Especially not by a fucking prince. “You’re too pretty when you think, Fedya. Less thinking, more doing, hm?” 

“Do? What is there to do in a club hallway?” Dolokhov wondered, genuinely curious as to what Anatole implied in his comment. The prince took Fedya’s hands out of his pockets and laced them with his own. He put both of them to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on his rough and worn knuckles. Fedya shivered at the touch of the pink, plush lips on his fingers. So many thoughts raced through his head. Why? How? Most importantly, What? 

“Tellement belle, ma chère Fedya,” Anatole whispered into the soldier’s hands, opening his fists and placing chaste kisses now on his palms. Dolokhov could do nothing but stare at the moment happening before him. Confused, yet in a trance by the beautiful man worshipping his hands. Could it be he met him not even an hour ago?

Fedya, what are you doing?

Dolokhov snapped out of his daze, ripping his hands away from Anatole, making him jump and bring his arms to his chest. He attempted to open his mouth to speak, but Fedya was already making his move. He grabbed Anatole by his long, pale throat and wrapped one hand around it, near his flawless jawline. It’s hard to be menacing to a man so beautiful.

“Why are you doing this? Making a fool out of me?” Fedya shouted, grasping Anatole’s neck just a little tighter, but enough to wear he could still speak if he needed to. And that’s what he did.

“Mon cher, I don’t think you realize that you can choke me in the stalls over there, too,” Anatole smirked and nodded his head to a restroom area. 

Fucking bastard.


End file.
